Hyacinth's Light

An eBook By Augusta Li and Eon de Beaumont.

As he walked, Quentin lifted the straps of his quiver and bow over his head. He laid them down gently, and Trevor placed his bag and hat beside them.

A pool of water the color of merlot waited at the far end of the plateau. Trees, their branches stretching like worshipful arms toward Hyacinth, formed a verdant canopy above. Water trickled down from a fissure in the rock between their exposed roots. Closer now, Trevor could see tiny, five-petal flowers scattered over the bushes. They produced a smell reminiscent of black currant. A few petals floated on the surface of the pool. Burgundy moss carpeted those smooth stones closest to the water. Trevor knelt down, eyes wide with delighted disbelief, and let his fingertips graze the surface of the water. It felt like cool silk.

"Nobody else knows about this place," Quentin said. He peeled his shirt over his head and flung it behind him. "Which is probably why the water is still so clean." Quentin proceeded to step out of his boots and pants. When he was naked, he stepped into the water, shivered a moment, and dipped his head below the surface. He emerged, dark hair dripping water like blood. It ran in red rivulets down his slender, sculpted chest and over his muscular shoulders. He shook his head, showering the stillkneeling Trevor with cool droplets and said, "Coming in?"

As much as he craved the fresh caress of the water, Trevor didn't think he could join Quentin. With Quentin standing, the pool barely concealed the impressive cock Trevor had glimpsed. The young doctor's eyes lingered on the triangle of wet, dark hair, and his memory filled in what waited beneath it. Trevor knew the scientific names of all of the muscles on Quentin's body: the sinew that stretched from behind his ear to his collarbone and popped out when he stretched his neck, the shelf that angled from his armpit to his nipple, the defined V that pointed down from his hips, but he couldn't remember any of the terms. He could only gaze at the other man's beauty and imagine how those firm planes of flesh would feel beneath his hands, his lips. His body had responded to his fantasies and his own cock pressed uncomfortably against the button fly of his trousers. If he took them off, he'd never be able to conceal his arousal and he didn't know how Quentin would react. After all, Quentin's religion taught that for two men to love one another was the foulestatrocity.

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